


Child of the Wizard

by WanderingAlice



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, M/M, raised by wizard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-05 08:49:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3113588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingAlice/pseuds/WanderingAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins became an orphan at age 13. Since nobody in his immediate family could care for him, his mother's old friend Gandalf took him in. And as it turns out, being raised by a wizard definitely has its advantages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Highly Irregular

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first serious attempt at writing for this fandom, despite it actually being the first fandom I was in. Before I even knew what ships were, I shipped Sam and Frodo, and now that I've seen the movies, I have to say that Bilbo/Thorin is my new otp. BotFA absolutely killed me, even though I knew what was coming. So I needed to do something to fix it. And that means fic. I'm writing something else (maybe...) that is my real fix-it, but this is something fun to do while I'm doing my research. 
> 
> So, my dear readers, I'll let you decide- is this worth continuing, or should I run back to my Star Trek and Marvel fics with my tail between my legs?
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!

It was highly irregular, all of Hobbiton agreed. Bilbo himself agreed, but in his case he approved of the irregularity. After all, he was no longer alone, and he had a wizard to take care of him. After his parents’ deaths, young Bilbo had been left on his own. None of his relatives wanted to take him- they all had children of their own, or not enough room, or some other excuse that just barely covered the fact that they didn’t want to take such a strange child into their families. After all, as he had heard one of his aunts say, he might ‘corrupt our children’. True, he was fond of adventures, and had always dreamed of the seeing the world outside the Shire, but Bilbo didn’t think that was such a bad thing. His mother had often encouraged his dreams, and even his respectable father had said little when he told them he wanted to be an adventurer and dragon slayer when he grew up. But, it seemed, the Bagginses of the Shire didn’t feel the same way, and so far none of the Tooks from his mother’s line had offered to take in the young fauntling. That was where Gandalf came in.

He arrived in the middle of negotiations over Bilbo and his parents’ legacy, to find the faunt huddled on his own down by the water. He barely even heard the wizard’s approach, so wrapped up was he in his own misery. He assumed it was one of his own neighbors or relatives, come to drag him back to the discussion, so he curled tighter in on himself and hoped they would overlook his hiding place. A comforting hand on his shoulder destroyed his hope.

“Bilbo Baggins,” a kindly voice said. “I have been looking for you.”

“Shan’t go back,” the faunt said. “They don’t want me. Nobody wants me.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong, my dear young hobbit.” A very large form folded itself down next to him, tugging Bilbo onto it’s lap. The faunt looked up, and up, and up, into the face of one of his mother’s oldest and best friends- the wizard Gandalf. At the sight of such a friendly countenance, Bilbo couldn’t help but let out a great gasping sob and burying his face into the wizard’s robes. And Gandalf held him as he cried, until the faunt was all cried out.

“There, there, Bilbo. Now, whatever is the matter?”

“I-” Bilbo gave a hiccuping gasp, then the story came flooding out. “They don’t want me. Uncle Longo and Aunt Camellia just had Otho and don’t want me to c’rupt him. Aunt Linda and Uncle Bodo don’t have room, only they do, they just built a new Smial. Uncle Bingo and Aunt Chica have too many kids already. And nobody else can take me either. The Tooks might, but Aunt Camellia said no Baggins should be raised by a Took, and Uncle Bodo said the Tooks wouldn’t take me anyway, ‘cause they’re all mad Mama married Papa.” He was too young to understand the conflicts that can sometimes arise between families. In later years, Bilbo would find that the Tooks would have gladly taken him in, but they had been told by Camellia that he was taken care of. Now, however, he simply knew that nobody wanted him, and both his parents were dead.

As Bilbo spoke, he felt Gandalf stiffen against his back, rage building in the wizard’s face at the thought that the lad’s adventurous tendencies might ‘corrupt’ anybody. The faunt’s eyes widened in fear, and he made to scramble back, away from Gandalf, but the old man caught him gently, forcing the anger down in favor of comforting the boy.

“It’s alright,” he told Bilbo. “I’ll take care of it, I promise.”

The fauntling looked up at him gravely, and examined his face. “Really?” he asked.

Gandalf nodded. “You will not be left alone, Bilbo Baggins. Not if there is anything I can do to prevent it.”

“Why?” Bilbo wanted to know. His own relatives didn’t want him, what made this man, this wizard, who wasn’t even from the Shire, want to help him?

Gandalf gave the question some thought, before replying. “I was quite fond of your mother, and even came to like your father after a time. It would be a poor way to honor Belladonna’s memory, if I let her son get shunted around between relatives until he comes of age. And I am very fond of you, young master Baggins.” Which Bilbo took to mean that Gandalf wanted him. The little hobbit snuggled closer to the wizard and wrapped an arm around his neck.

“You won’t leave me? You promise?”

And Gandalf, the great wandering wizard, smiled, and nodded. “Yes, Bilbo. I won’t leave you.” He stood, and with the fauntling balanced on his hip, the wizard started back towards Bag End. There, they found the Baggins relatives gathered around the table in the large dinning room in Bilbo’s home, all loudly arguing over what was to be done with the place, and with Bilbo himself. Bilbo buried his head in Gandalf’s robes when the entered, both in fright at being so very high up, and at the loud voices of his relations. Gandalf listened for a moment, enough to hear Camellia Baggins start talking again about how she didn’t want “that boy” corrupting her baby, before drawing himself up to his full height (which was considerable, especially compared to the diminutive hobbits.)

“Camellia Baggins!” he thundered, voice full of power and reminiscent of a winter storm. All the hobbits in the room turned to look at him, except for Bilbo, who just burrowed further into his robes. “Bilbo is a _child_. He is no more capable of corrupting Otho than he is of flight. For shame, all of you. You’re acting like a bunch of dwarves in a clan war, not hobbits with an orphaned nephew. If none of you want him, then _I_ will take him. And I will raise him here, in Bag End. I trust that will put an end to this disgraceful argument?”

Silence followed Gandalf’s words, the hobbits staring up at him in surprise. Then Longo Baggins spoke up in a shaky voice. “If you think that is best,” he said.

“I do,” Gandalf told him. “After hearing you all, I think Belladonna would rather see him raised by a dragon than any of you.”

“Well,” Camilla said, puffing up with injured pride. “If that’s what you think, then there’s no need for us to be here. Come, Longo.” And she dragged her husband from the room. The other hobbits swiftly followed, a few remembering their manners and wishing Gandalf a good day, or inviting him over for tea, until the room was empty of all but the wizard and his new young charge.

“Well,” Gandalf smiled kindly at Bilbo. “That’s settled.”

Bilbo nodded gravely. Then, in true hobbit fashion, declared “I’m hungry.”

Gandalf rummaged in the pantry until he came up with a suitable second breakfast for a growing fauntling, then sat at the table while Bilbo ate. The faunt refused to so much as let him out of his sight- no doubt afraid the wizard would leave if he did. They stared at each other for a few minutes, then, as Bilbo finished his seed-cake, a question occurred to Gandalf.

“Bilbo,” he asked, “how old are you?”

The faunt thought for a second. “Thirteen.”*

 

After that, life took on a predictably unpredictable pattern for young Bilbo. He spent much of his time with Gandalf in the Shire, but every so often something would come up that demanded the wizard’s attention. Then he would drag the fauntling off to whatever adventure awaited. Bilbo picked up quite a few useful skills on these excursions, none the least was the ability to get into places unseen, and liberate small items that needed to be returned to their rightful owners. He also learned the languages of men and elves, and the house his father had built for his mother soon saw a steady flow of elven and human visitors. The other hobbits considered him something of an oddity, not at all respectable, but they were a good people at heart, and little was said about it where Bilbo could hear. It turned out that, for Bilbo Baggins at least, being raised by a wizard was good for him. He learned to appreciate adventure, and even enjoy the trips out of the Shire that came more frequently as he got older.

There were, of course, times when wherever Gandalf was going was to dangerous for a child, and Bilbo would be left either with his Took relatives, or with the elves in Rivendell. With his Took family, Bilbo learned the most important things about being a hobbit. With the elves, he learned more about the rest of the world that he had never seen. He shared a love of maps with Lord Elrond, and his Took cousins delighted in the stories he could tell them of his travels. In time, he forgot how miserable he had been on that riverbank the day that Gandalf found him. And when he came of age, he did not stop going on adventures with his former guardian. No, the sight of Bilbo Baggins, pack on his back, heading off for another trip, was a common thing in the Shire in those days. Nobody knew when he would go, or where he would be off to next. So nobody was all that surprised when the dwarves started showing up outside Bag End.

 

*note- Hobbits come of age at 33, meaning Gandalf has at least twenty years before Bilbo will be considered old enough to live on his own.


	2. Unexpected Happenings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I was really surprised at the response to this story! Thank you so much to everyone who commented or left kudos. I hope the story continues to please. And feel free to tell me if you think something is wrong with the story, or if you have any suggestions. Please enjoy!
> 
> Next week, Bilbo finds out just what all these dwarves are doing in his house.
> 
> (This was written on my iPad, since my computer is dead, but the writing bug bit hard anyway. Please disregard typos- they will be fixed when the computer is)

The morning of the unexpected party, Bilbo spent pleasantly enough, going to the market to get food for dinner, and visiting with various acquaintances and relatives. For the most part, the hobbits of the Shire thought him odd, but agreeable, if not at all respectable. The children loved his story-telling, and he never failed to give wonderful presents on his birthday. He never caused trouble in the Shire, and generally behaved as a hobbit should, save for all the adventures. But, the other hobbits told each other, that was only to be expected when one was raised by a wizard.

Gandalf had been gone for some time on an errand of his own, and Bilbo expected him back soon, so he took care to purchase several of his wizard's favorite foods to prepare for his return. Then he went home, and set about looking at his maps to see where he and Gandalf could go next. It had been nearly a year since his last adventure, and his feet were getting itchy for another. 

He was putting aside his maps and thinking about supper when the first knock on the door came. He frowned. It was past time for most hobbits to come visiting, and Gandalf never knocked. He wasn't expecting anyone else, so Bilbo was terribly curious when he opened the door to find a dwarf. A tall, imposing dwarf at that. 

"Dwalin, at your service," the dwarf introduced himself, and Bilbo, never one to forget his manners, replied "Bilbo Baggins, at yours." 

Dwalin was quickly brought inside, and offered dinner. They were just sitting down to it, and Bilbo was about to ask why he was there, when another knock sounded at the door. He hurried to answer it, and met Balin, who appeared to be Dwalin's brother, if their familiar greetings were any indication. Soon after Balin, several other dwarves arrived. By this time, poor Bilbo was thoroughly confused, but willing to go along with whatever was happening. He did protest when one of the younger dwarves, he thought he had said his name was Kili, started to scrape his boots on one of the few things Bilbo had of his mother's, but for the most part he was content to host the party. Dwarves, he knew, were quite entertaining, once one got over the bad manners. And soon enough, he had a small gathering of them. Twelve, to be exact, and Gandalf. Which, well, Bilbo really shouldn't have been surprised that this was all Gandalf's idea. It was the sort of thing that had happened several times before, usually just before an adventure. Not that anyone said anything about an adventure during the meal, or the washing up (where Bilbo had legitimately feared for his cutlery, especially after the dwarves started singing.) No, nothing at all was said of why the dwarves were there until there was a final knock on the door. 

Silence descended with that sound, and one of the dwarves said "He's here." Bilbo got up, and once more opened the door. Standing there was perhaps the most majestic dwarf Bilbo had ever seen. He didn't introduce himself, but simply looked Bilbo up and down, as if evaluating him for something, and finding him lacking. Bilbo drew himself up to his full three feet, six inches, and met the dwarf's very blue eyes with his most unflinching stare. 

"This is Thorin Oakenshield, laddie," Balin said. "The leader of our company." 

"So this is your burglar?" Thorin asked Gandalf. "He looks more like a grocer." 

"I beg your pardon!" Bilbo cried, insulted. "I happen to be a very accomplished burglar, if you must know. I once stole Lord Elrond's map of Arda back from a group of bandits, after I snuck into their camp in broad daylight!" That had been his crowning accomplishment to date, though he'd been sworn to silence about how the bandits got the map in the first place- the lord of Rivendell didn't want it put about that he'd let a thief get into his treasure room and walk out with his prized map, or that he'd had to ask Gandalf for help retrieving it. 

"Hmph," was all Thorin said. "We shall see." And he walked passed Bilbo to take a seat at the head of his table. 

Bilbo watched Thorin as the dwarves gathered around him, wondering just what brought them to his home. He thought, perhaps, that this was simply another of Gandalf's quests, something the wizard had taken an interest in, and would bring Bilbo along just for the fun of it. But there was something in Thorin's eyes, a dark and painful light that reminded him of another dwarf he had met nearly thirty years before. And a promise he had made. 

When Bilbo was twenty, Gandalf got word of a dark shadow in Dol Guldur, a haunting perhaps, or a memory of evil long vanquished. For whatever reason, perhaps lack of information, or an over abundance of confidence in his charge, the wizard decided to bring his adopted son along. They reached the old fortress on a bright Trewsday morning, which should have been warning enough for the young hobbit- nothing good ever happened on a Trewsday. It was a saying he would use again and again as the years went on, and he learned to count his life by the calamities that happened on a Trewsday. On this particular Trewsday, though, he was still young and naive enough to believe there would be no trouble, even after they saw the shadowed ruins that had once been Amon Lanc, the capital of the silvan elves. 

“Stay close to me, Bilbo,” Gandalf ordered. “There was once great evil here, though it is here no longer.” 

“Did you chase it out?” the young hobbit asked, obediently standing close to Gandalf and wrapping one small hand around the wizard’s larger fingers. 

Gandalf smiled down at his charge. “Indeed, I did Onya*.” 

“Good.” Bilbo nodded, trying to seem older than the tween he was. “Should I have a sword or something? Just in case?” 

The wizard laughed, and drew a small (for a man) package out of his robes, presenting it to Bilbo, who drew out a small sword. It wasn’t much more than a dagger for a man or an elf, but the tween gasped in delight, and immediately set about swinging it wildly with all the ferocity of an untrained swordsman, more likely to break his own arm than actually stab anything. 

“Careful,” Gandalf said, putting a steadying hand on his charge’s shoulder. “I don’t want you poking your eye out. We’ll see about training you properly later, but for now, just be careful.” 

“Right, right,” Bilbo agreed, fastening the sheath to his belt. “I know the basics- don’t cut myself, and the pointy end goes in my enemies.” 

“Hmm. Yes, quite.” The wizard watched until the sword was slid back into the sheath. “Well, there will be time for lessons when we are done. Stay close, Onya.” 

The pair made their slow way into the ruin, Bilbo looking around with curiosity while Gandalf attempted to find the source of the shadow. And then, without quite knowing how it happened, Bilbo found himself in the lower reaches of what might have once been a castle, without his wizard. Deciding that down was as good an option as any, he continued through the growing gloom into what appeared to be the dungeons. 

As he went, he began to hear sounds of battle from above and behind him. One of Gandalf’s rules for adventuring was that, when he heard a fight, Bilbo was to run in the opposite direction until he couldn’t hear it any more, and then wait for Gandalf to find him. The first few times this had happened, Bilbo had run and then huddled at the edge where he could just hear the noise, terrified his wizard would not come back. But now, with several adventures together under his belt, Bilbo felt no such fear- Gandalf had promised to never leave him alone, and if Bilbo believed in anything, he believed in the wizard that was all but father to him. He continued on deeper into the dungeons, trusting that when Gandalf had banished the whatever-it-was, he would find him. (Part of this trust came from the fact that, while Bilbo was still a faunt, and had developed a tendency to wander off, Gandalf had given him a ring with some of the wizard’s power in it, spelled so Gandalf could always find him- a ring which the hobbit never removed from the chain he wore around his neck. Rings would be another theme in Bilbo’s life, though he didn’t know it yet.) 

Deeper and deeper Bilbo went, following faint sounds which grew more distinct with every step. Someone was down there, there was a person, or maybe an animal in those halls. Bilbo could recognize the sound of chains clinking from time spent in some bandits’ dungeons a couple years ago. (He’d been there for three days until Gandalf had burst in and all but exploded the whole building, trying to find him. Those of the bandits that survived had gone on to spread the tale until half of Arda knew to fear the wizard’s wrath if they came between him and his hobbit.) Those chains clinked at irregular intervals, as if the wearer was slowly moving around in their cell or cage. Bilbo felt in his vest for the secret inner pocket that held the set of lock picks Gandalf had given him after the Bandit Incident. Saruman had scoffingly insinuated that Gandalf was turning the hobbit into a burglar, and ever since Bilbo had worn the title with pride, despite the fact that he never stole anything that hadn’t been stolen from someone else first. This time, he aimed to steal who- or what-ever was being held prisoner. 

Finally, as the sounds of battle faded to a muted murmur in the background, Bilbo found the occupied cell. Inside, he thought first it was a man- a very old man, but a man nonetheless. Then, when he moved closer, he saw instead that it was a dwarf. He was old, that much was clear, with dirt caked into his wrinkled skin and ground into the fabric of the tattered clothes he wore. His snow-white hair was a mess of unraveling braids and bits of detritus picked up from the filthy floor that also served as his bed. He looked up at Bilbo with rheumy cataract-clouded eyes, and scrambled back with a high, keening scream. 

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. I’m a friend,” Bilbo knelt down and held out his hands in a gesture of peace. “Or, well, unless you’re not fond of hobbits or wizards. Then I suppose I’m not a friend.” 

“Wizards?” the elderly dwarf asked in a raspy voice. Bilbo would wager he hadn’t had much occasion to use it in the past… however long. He tried for a comforting smile. 

“Gandalf the Grey. Um, you might know him as Mithrandir. No?” He frowned when the dwarf shook his head. “Then… um, oh, you might know him as Tharkûn?” It was the name the dwarves had given him in their secret language. Gandalf thought it meant “Grey Man,” but even he was not privileged with the knowledge of Khuzdul. 

The name struck a note with the dwarf. He sat up and squinted at Bilbo, trying to see who he was. “Khuzd?*” he asked. 

“Sorry,” Bilbo said, “I don’t understand your language. I’m not a dwarf.” It galled the 20 year old to admit it, because he was already considering himself quite the scholar. He spoke Sindarin, Quenya, the few remaining words of Hobbitish, and of course Westron, but nary a word of Khuzdul. 

The dwarf seemed to deflate, sinking back down onto the floor. Bilbo took his time with the lock, fumbling a little until he heard the tell-tale click and the door swung open. He went to the dwarf then, and got to work on the shackles around his wrists and ankles. While he worked he kept up a friendly chatter, hoping to ease the mind of the dwarf, who probably hadn’t heard a friendly voice in years. He also got a closer look at him, though he almost wished he hadn’t. He looked to be in his last decade of life, the time when dwarves began to age quickly after staying the same for nearly two centuries. And those two centuries had not been kind to this dwarf. His skin was littered with scars, some even marring the faded markings across his face, and his eyes were those of one who was fighting with tooth and nail to hold onto his last scrap of sanity. 

“I’m Bilbo, by the way. Bilbo Baggins. I don’t suppose you can tell me your name, sir dwarf?” Bilbo paused, not because he was expecting a response, but because the dwarf suddenly looked pained. 

“I…” his voice was rough, like nails scraping on stone. “My name... I do not know my name!” He sat up and gripped Bilbo’s arm with surprising strength. “I am…I was… uzbad*” 

“Well then, Uzbad, don’t you worry. I’ll have you out of here in a jiffy.” He patted the dwarf’s hand awkwardly, then tried to pulled his arm back. The dwarf gripped him tighter, eyes suddenly bright with urgency. 

“My… son. My son. Where is he?” he demanded. 

Bilbo tried to pull away, but sick and injured as he was, the dwarf was still stronger than the little hobbit. “I don’t know. But if you let me get you out of here, we can find Gandalf, and he can help you find your son, alright?” 

“Too late!” moaned the dwarf. “Oh my son. I am too late.” 

“No, no, you’re not,” Bilbo assured him, though he had no idea what he was talking about. “Gandalf will help, you’ll see. He’s good at getting people out of tight places. Look at me, there I was, all of thirteen, and he took me in when my own kin didn’t want me. He’s a powerful wizard, if anyone can get you to your son, it’s him.” 

“Late!” the dwarf moaned again. “He must… take back…” his grip on Bilbo’s arm loosened, and he slowly fell back, moaning still and muttering in his own language. Bilbo was grateful because it made it that much easier for him to finish picking the locks on his shackles. When he slid them off the dwarf’s wrists, he noticed that he kept one hand curled up, as if trying to protect the ring on one finger. It was a large ring, with a large-ish blue stone set in gold. It was remarkable because it was the only thing on the old dwarf that was clean- the gold sparkled as if it had just been cleaned, and the stone reflected light that wasn’t even there. He had a few other rings, but all were tarnished and crusted with filth. 

Just then, a loud bang sounded back up the corridor, and the sounds of battle, which had been getting louder over the past few minutes, stopped. Bilbo felt something like wind pass through him, the shadows rising to the ceiling and then through it. A sound like the faintest exhale from a dying man was heard, and then the hobbit felt something snap. And suddenly the sick, evil feeling of the place was gone. Well, not gone, but lesser. As if some great part of it had been driven out but was only waiting for a chance to come back. 

“Did you feel that, Uzbad?” Bilbo asked, but when the evil departed, the dwarf had gone limp, a puppet whose strings were suddenly cut. The curled hand relaxed, and the only sign that he was still alive came in the ragged rising and falling of his chest. “You’ll be fine,” Bilbo said, more to reassure himself than the dwarf. “Gandalf is coming.” The last lock snapped open, the shackles on the dwarf’s ankles sliding free. That finished, the hobbit removed his pack and began digging through it, looking for some herbs he might use to help the dwarf. 

“Bilbo?” Gandalf’s voice echoed down the hall, reverberating off the bare stone. 

“Down here!” Bilbo called. “There’s a dwarf here that needs healing.” 

“A dwarf?” the wizard asked, the sound of his quick steps reaching Bilbo’s ears. 

“Yes, a dwarf. He says his name is Uzbad.” Bilbo looked up from his pack, and there was Gandalf, the top of his staff glowing brighter than a lantern. In the sudden light, the dwarf looked even paler than before. “I got the chains off him, but…” the hobbit bit his lip. While he’d seen death before- it was an unpleasant reality of many adventures- he’d never seen someone this close to it but not yet gone. 

Gandalf waisted no time, kneeling next to the prone dwarf and lifting a hand above his face. He spoke quickly and softly, uttering a spell over the dwarf. Bilbo waited, pouch of medicinal herbs in hand, while his wizard worked his magic. 

At length, the dwarf drew in a long breath of air and opened his eyes. They were clear now, old, and wise, and so full of pain. He looked up into Gandalf’s face, and recognition fluttered across his features. 

“Tharkûn?” he asked, an urgent hand grasping the wizard’s arm. “Is it you? Have you come to cast out the evil?” 

“Yes. It is gone. Rest now, we must get you to a healer.” Gandalf put a gentle hand on the dwarf’s shoulders, trying to push him back down to lie flat. “Bilbo, I’m going to need some of that-” 

“No time!” the dwarf gasped. “Tharkûn, you must help me.” 

“I am helping you,” Gandalf said. “Bilbo, the herbs-” 

“Take this,” the dwarf drew a scroll from his shredded and dirty tunic and shoved it into Gandalf’s hands, along with a key. “Give them to my son.” 

“You’ll give them to him yourself,” Bilbo told him, coming over with his herbs. “Just let us get you to a healer.” 

“No… they were… keeping me alive. I must… the ring. Take the ring. He can’t have it.” The dwarf slid the ring from his finger, shoving it at Bilbo. “ _He_ wants it… the dragon is his creature… My son. Give it to my son. I-” he gasped, and the sound bounced off the walls, multiplying it, making it louder, until Bilbo wanted to cover his ears to stop the horrible sound. “I… I am sorry…” he gasped again, and this time Bilbo could hear a rattle coming from deep in the dwarf’s chest. 

“They were keeping you alive? Why?” Gandalf demanded, urgency in his voice. 

“For _him._ To-” the dwarf’s words were interrupted by another gasp. “He is coming. I wouldn’t let them have it. I-” Another gasp. He reached out again, taking hold of Bilbo’s hands. “Tell my children- tell them I love them.” When Bilbo hesitated, he squeezed his hands. “Tell them,” he demanded. 

“I will,” Bilbo said, and the dwarf smiled until another gasp ripped itself from his chest. 

“Tell my son-” this time the gasp came with a high keening sound that hurt the hobbit’s sensitive ears. “Tell him I’m sorry.” A final gasp. Then the dwarf fell back, and Bilbo watched as the life drained from his eyes. 

Gandalf gently closed the dwarf’s eyes, expression sad and troubled. “May your journey be swift to the Halls of Mandos,” he said. Bilbo bowed his head for a moment in silence. Then, he looked at the thing the dwarf had given him. 

“Gandalf?” Bilbo held out the ring, which was warm in his palm. “Was this what they were keeping him for?” 

The wizard studied the ring, but made no move to take it from Bilbo. “This… unless I am very much mistaken, this is the Ring of Thror. I would very much like to know how it came to be here, as the last person to wear it fell in the battle of Azanulbizar.” 

“So, it’s a magic ring?” Bilbo asked. He’d been very disappointed when he learned that the ring Gandalf had given him did nothing but let the wizard find him. It would have been fun to have a magic ring that actually did something. Maybe invisibility. Or walking through walls. 

Gandalf met Bilbo’s eyes with a serious frown. “It is a ring of power, and not a trifle to be played with, Bilbo Baggins.” 

The tween deflated. “Sorry. Sorry. It’s just… I’ve never seen a magic ring before. What does it do?” 

The wizard considered his answer. Bilbo was just a tween, and still innocent of the greater evils of the world. He had no reason to fear Sauron, in fact, he had never heard of him. Gandalf had tried to protect his adopted son from the worst of the world, but to explain what the rings of power did, what they had caused, would be to tell him exactly how dark a place Arda could be. He found that he wanted his child to keep his innocence for a while longer. “It grants dwarves the power to multiply their treasure. This ring was given to King Durin III by Celebrimbor, and was passed down through his line until Thror was killed in battle. No one knew what became of the ring after that. I would give much to know who this dwarf was, and how he came by this ring.” 

“He said his name was Uzbad,” Bilbo reminded him, still holding out the ring. Gandalf shook his head. 

“Uzbad is a word in their language. I cannot tell you what it means, but I do not believe it is his name.” 

“Then… how will we find his son? And give him… whatever he gave you?” the hobbit wanted to know. 

“Perhaps this holds a clue,” Gandalf said, unrolling the scroll. It was a map. 

“Oooh!” Bilbo moved closer, and Gandalf chuckled at his young charge and his love of maps. “It’s a map! Of… the Lonely Mountain. I think…” he squinted at the runes, deciphering the ancient script. “It says… ‘Five feet high the door, and three may walk abreast.’ It’s a map to a secret door! And that must be the key!” The excited tween pointed to the large iron key in Gandalf’s hands. “Maybe the dwarf’s son is in the mountain? We could go and see, at least!” 

“ _Absolutely not_!” Gandalf declared, the volume of his voice making the hobbit jump. “No,” he said again, much quieter, though the thought of Bilbo going near Erebor was quite disturbing to say the least. “That mountain is now the lair of the dragon Smaug. I don’t want you anywhere near it until you are at _least_ forty, do you hear me Bilbo Baggins?” 

“Yes, Atya*.” Bilbo said dutifully. “I wouldn’t want to meet a dragon in any case. They are awfully big and evil. But maybe when I’m older?” 

“We shall see,” Gandalf told him, though he didn’t know if he’d ever feel ready to let Bilbo walk into that sort of danger. 

"Do you want the ring?" Bilbo asked, once more holding it out to the wizard. Gandalf looked at Thror's ring, and then at his own. No, no one should hold more than one ring of power. Even for a wizard it was too dangerous. He reached out and closed Bilbo's hand over it. 

"I cannot take it. I want you to keep it safe for now. But you must never put it on, do you understand?" He shuddered to think of what could happen, should Bilbo wear a ring of power. The possibilities were all terrifying. 

Bilbo nodded. "I won't. But... What about his son? Will we try to find him?" 

"We will," Gandalf said. "But when we find him, I need you to promise me something. I want you to watch him, to see if he can resist the power of the ring." 

"Resist it?" Bilbo asked, surprised. "Why?" 

"Having that much power can corrupt. It may have been what happened to Thror, whose mind fell to gold sickness before the dragon came. You will need to be sure of the dwarf's character before giving him this ring. If he cannot resist, if he becomes overtaken by greed, the results could be disasterous." 

"Oh." Bilbo looked at the ring in his palm as if he were suddenly holding a spitting adder. "Right. But, if I keep it, won't it corrupt me?" 

"That is why you must never wear it," the wizard told him. "Do I have your word?" 

"I'll never wear it, and when we find its owner, I won't give it to him until I know he can resist it," Bilbo promised. "But how will I know he can?" he wanted to know. 

"You will know," Gandalf said, frustratingly. Bilbo frowned at him, but didn't say anything. If he had to, he'd just make up his own mind, and if he chose wrong the wizard could deal with the consequences. Later, when they made camp, after the buried the dwarf, Bilbo would thread the ring onto the chain that held his ring from Gandalf. The two rings remained on that chain, resting just above his heart, for nearly thirty years. 

*Onya- Quenya for ‘my son’. Source- elfdict.com 

*Khuzd- khuzdul for dwarf. Source- The Dwarrow Scholar 

*Uzbad - khuzdul for king. Source- The Dwarrow Scholar 

*Atya- shortened/familiar form of “my father” in Quenya. Source- elfdict.com


	3. The Journey Explained

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was still written on my iPad. I'm waiting on a package from home with my new computer charger, which may get here late next week or the week after, depending on the mail and the chance for me to go in to the city to pick it up. Since my computer has all my notes, including my plot file, there might be edits here when I get it working again.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos. I hope you continue to enjoy the story! Please feel free to let me know what you think, and don't be afraid to tell me if you think I've made a mistake- as I said, all my notes and research are out of my reach at the moment, so it's very likely I've screwed something up.

 Bilbo was brought from his memories by the sound of Gandalf's voice.

"Sorry?" he asked, "I wasn't listening."

Thorin laughed, and it was not at all a nice sound. Bilbo found himself turning red, and tried to hide it by looking to his wizard. _What a way to gain his respect, Bilbo Baggins,_ he told himself.

"I _said_ 'go get the map, Bilbo," Gandalf repeated.

"Which map?" Bilbo wanted to know, and was answered by a raised eyebrow from Gandalf. Oh. Of course. _The_ map. The one he had just been thinking about. "Yes, alright, just a moment."

Bilbo hurried into the other room, where he kept his map collection. There, framed above his mantle, was the map the old dwarf had given them. He had spent many long evenings puzzling over it, for no matter how often he looked at it, Bilbo felt he was missing something. Perhaps these dwarves could tell him what it was.

As Bilbo removed the map from the wall, he could hear Thorin's voice coming from the dining room. "Are you sure this is our burglar, Gandalf?" he asked. "I was under the impression you had acquired for us an expert, not a bumbling dreamer. He may want to join our venture, but that does not mean he has the skill for it. Can he even defend himself in the wild?"

"Aye," one of the dwarves agreed. "The wild is no place for gentle folk."

Bilbo was about to march back in there and give them what-for, (bumbling dreamer indeed!) when Gandalf spoke up, ice in his voice.

"Have a care how you speak about Bilbo," he warned the dwarves. "If I say he is a burglar, then a burglar he is. There is a great deal more about him than you guess."

There was some rumbling amongst the dwarves at that, but it quickly subsided as Bilbo reappeared with the map in his hands.

"Here you are, Atya*. I take it this is who you've been looking for?" Bilbo purposefully ignored Thorin. If the dwarf was going to start this off by being rude, well, two could play at that game. It may have been an entirely improper thing to do, but Bilbo was feeling distinctly Tookish that evening, and found he didn't care.

Gandalf nodded, removing the key from inside one of his long sleeves. If the wizard's slight smile was anything to go by, he noticed his adopted son's snub of the dwarf, and did not disapprove. No doubt he was planning something. Bilbo wouldn't put it past him to orchestrate a situation in which Bilbo was forced to save Thorin and therefore gain his trust. Scheming wizard.

There was an exclamation when Thorin saw the key in The wizard's hands.

"That," the dwarf cried, "was my father's key. It should have passed to me, as his heir. Where did you get a hold of it?"

"I did not 'get a hold of it,' as you say. It was given to me. We found your father in the dungeons of Dol Guldur, and he passed on this map and key. And if I have chosen my own time to hand it over, I can hardly be blamed. He could not remember his own name, let alone yours." Gandalf stared at the dwarf, as if daring him to argue.

For his part, Thorin looked stunned. He frowned at Gandlaf, as if unsure what to say. What finally came out of his mouth was "We?"

"Bilbo and I. Bilbo was the one to free your father of his chains while I dealt with the minions of the Necromancer. It was lucky for us that their master had not yet arrived, or even I might have had some difficulty in getting away.

The dwarves all looked at Bilbo with a great deal more respect at that, and the hobbit squirmed a little under the attention. Thorin's intense gaze was especially discomforting. He stared at Bilbo so long that he began to get uncomfortable and was forced to look away from those dark eyes.

"You rescued my father from the dungeons of the Necromancer?" The dwarf asked at last, as if he didn't quite believe it.

"Well, I got him out of the cell at least. But, it was too late for a real rescue. I'm sorry," Bilbo apologized. Whatever he might think of Thorin personally, it was still a terrible thing to lose one's parents.

"Don't be," Thorin told him. "It has been a very long time since I believed my father would return to us alive. But it is some small comfort to know he was not alone at the end." Then he turned to look at the map, and Bilbo was relieved. He had felt rather like a bug pinned to a board, unable to move under the intense scrutiny. He could not read Thorin, and was more than a little worried that the dwarf-king was angry with him. Well, he couldn't help not knowing who the dwarf had been! He'd been in a bloody dungeon for Eru's sake. Thorin could be as mad as he wanted, it wouldn't change the facts, and Bilbo could not have acted any differently.

"This is a map of Erebor," Thorin said after a brief glance at the map. "But I don't see how it can help up. I remember the mountain well enough."

"Then you already know where to find the secret door?" Bilbo couldn't help but ask, and cursed himself when his words brought him once more under Thorin's intense gaze.

"Secret door?"

"See, here," Bilbo brushed past the dwarf king to point at the markings on the map. "There's a side entrance. It says 'five feet high the door, and three may walk abreast.' Really, it's quite easy to see. I don't know how you missed it." He couldn't resist adding in a jab of his own, after all, he was still smarting over the "bumbling dreamer" comment.

"I see," Thorin grumbled. "I had always wondered how my father escaped. He must have used this door. But knowing there is a door doesn't do us any good in opening it."

"Isn't that what the key is for? And if not, why, you'll have a burglar to figure it out. After all, getting into locked places _is_ part of the job." Bilbo didn't doubt his ability to get in, though just what he was supposed to do when he got there was still quite a mystery. He'd gotten into many other places, after all, and a dragon was hardly likely to be careful about locking the doors.

"Very well," Thorin frowned at him, and Bilbo suspected he doubted his skills. Well. He might not be a great hero, or a warrior, or anything like that, but he was rather good at his job, even if he did say so himself. "Then what does the burglar think?"

"First I should like to know a little more about what we're about. I can't imagine you intend to slay the dragon with just thirteen dwarves and one hobbit," Bilbo said.

"You know of the fall of the Lonely Mountain?" Thorin asked him, and Bilbo nodded an affirmative. It had been one of the first things he had asked Gandalf, after they got the map. The dwarf looked rather dubious, but continued on. "It has been nearly seventeen decades since my people last set foot in the halls of Erebor. But Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time."

The older dwarf, who held a hearing horn to his ear nodded. "When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast shall end. And Ravens have been seen flocking to the mountain."

"So... You're going to trust a prophecy, and just go, and... What? See what happens?" Bilbo was frankly incredulous. He'd been on several adventures, and none of them had been so poorly planned. And that included the one where Gandalf had intended to take him to the ocean- and hobbits don't swim (except perhaps a few Brandybucks, who had an uncommon affinity for water.)

"I'm not afraid! I'm up for it!" the youngest of the dwarves declared. "I'll give Smaug a taste of real dwarvish iron, right up his jacksie!" Bilbo admired the boy's bravery, but he wasn't going to ask what a "jacksie" was. The lad could hardly be out of his tweens, or whatever the dwarvish equivalent was. Gandalf would never have let Bilbo near a dragon at that age.

"Sit down!" another dwarf yanked on the back of the young one's sweater, pulling him back down into his seat. The lad sat, but clearly wasn't discouraged. He followed the conversation with bright eyes, and Bilbo rather thought he was attempting to remember everything that went on. If he did join this venture, the hobbit would have to show him the red book in which he recorded all his adventures. He had a feeling that the youngest dwarf, at least, might appreciate it.

"Aye," Balin said. "It's true it would be a hard enough task with a whole army, and we number just thirteen. And not thirteen of the best, nor brightest."

That drew a cry of protest from the other dwarves, which went on until Thorin stood and banged his fist on the table.

"Shazara*," he cried. "If we have read the portents, others may have as well. The dragon has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, Eyes look east to the Mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor? Du Bekâr! Du Bekâr!*"

One of the other young dwarves stood. "We may be few in number," he said, "but we're fighters, all of us. To the last dwarf!"

Bilbo fought the urge to roll his eyes at the dramatics while the dwarves all cheered. "So what you're saying," he said, when everyone had calmed down, "is that you do intend to try your luck with just thirteen of you."

"That is why we require a burglar," Thorin said. "After all, thirteen is a most unlucky number." He stared at Bilbo some more, until the hobbit started to shift uncomfortably, then turned to the white-haired dwarf at his side. "Balin, give him the contract."

Balin passed Bilbo a rather thick square of parchment, which he unfolded to find a detailed list of all the expectations, risks, and rewards of the journey. When he got to the part about incineration, a bit of his Baggins side kicked in, and he looked up at Gandalf in worry. "Incineration?" He asked, rather surprised Gandalf was willing to let him sign on to something this risky. Just a few years before, he'd refused to let Bilbo join up with a group of rangers going on an Orc hunt, and now he was alright with him going to slay a dragon?

"Oh, aye," the dwarf with the hat, Bilbo believed his name was Bofur, said. "He'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye."

Well, if Gandalf knew the risks, and let them give him the contract anyway, Bilbo wasn't about to refuse. He'd had that map for years, and he'd always wondered what the mountain was really like. Bilbo signed the paper.

"Alright, we're off!" Bofur said gleefully when Bilbo handed the contract back to Balin. Gandalf smiled with pride at his adopted son, and Bilbo went bustling off to pack. He was in the the other room when Thorin leaned over to Gandalf, and said in a low voice "I cannot guarantee his safety."

Gandalf met his eyes. He did not need anyone to tell him that. Bilbo had seen wounds before, on far less dangerous journeys. "Understood."

"Nor will I be responsible for his fate," Thorin added.

Gandalf's eyes flicked to the doorway, where Bilbo hurried past muttering about pocket handkerchiefs, then focused on the dwarf-king. This adventure would be good for Bilbo, of that he was sure. And he highly doubted it would succeed without his hobbit. Still, as any good parent, he did not like sending his child into danger. It came down to his faith in Bilbo, in the end. Did he trust in his son's experience and skills, his ability to take care of himself, or did he not? Slowly, he inclined his head. "Agreed."

That night, Bilbo fell asleep to the sound of Thorin singing, and the deep voice of the dwarf-king echoed in his dreams. When he woke in the morning, he could remember nothing of them save Thorin's haunting song.

 

*Atya- Quenya for "my father"

*Shazara - khuzdul for "silence"

*Du Bekâr- khuzdul for "to arms"

Movie script found at https://docs.google.com/document/d/1WSLu9yYZZk55wi4PgZ904qC2eaHMw-e3jhpGjNGWJMs/mobilebasic?forcehl=1&hl=en

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love snarky!Bilbo, so expect to see a lot more of him. Also, I think that a more experienced Bilbo would have been really irritated at the way Thorin dismisses him at first, and have tried to reflect that here. I hope it worked.
> 
> What are your favorite dwarf pairings? I've got a few side plots that need filling,and want to play with the dwarves some. I'll consider anything but incest.


	4. Trolls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some trouble with autocorrect writing this one (still on my iPad, at least until next week) and while I think I got them all, I could have missed one or two, so if you see a word out of place let me know.
> 
> I debated whether or not to include the whole scene with the trolls in this chapter, or gloss over it briefly. I opted to include the whole thing, but please tell me what you think. Too much?
> 
> Expect another chapter sometime this weekend. Kili and Bilbo will be forming a devious plot.
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos! I'm so glad you like my story, and hope you continue to enjoy it!

They left early the next morning, Bilbo comfortably astride his pony, Myrtle. As they went, he could hear the mutters of his neighbors-"there goes Mad Baggins, off again." He tuned it out with a hum and a smile, used to such things. The talk was the worst when they passed through the market, (for, after all, what is a good Shire market without a thriving trade in gossip?) and when they were through, Fili and Kili drew their ponies up on either side of Bilbo.

"Why do they call you 'Mad Baggins'?" the younger brother wanted to know. 

"Because I go on adventures," Bilbo told him. "It's not at all respectable." 

"Why not?" Fili asked, throwing a curious look at old Gammer Proudfoot, who was staring at them from her front porch. "Adventurers do all kinds of grand things." 

"The Shire isn't a place made for grand things," Bilbo patiently explained. "The farthest most of us have ever been is Bree. My cousin Otho would probably die of fright if he had to go beyond Farmer Maggot's fields." 

"But not you?" Kili was looking at Bilbo with a frown of confusion. 

"No," Bilbo laughed. "Not me. It comes of being the child of a wizard." 

"See, that's what I don't understand," Kili said, and Fili nodded. Clearly, this was what they wanted most to ask him. "Are you really his son? It's just..." the brothers shifted uncomfortably on their ponies. "It's hard to imagine him... You know. With a woman." 

"Oh, ugh!" Bilbo covered his ears as if the action could make him un-hear the dwarf's words. "Thank you very much for that image. I did _not_ need to think of that. That's... Ugh." He shuddered. "No, he's not my natural father, but he's as good as. He took me in when my parents died and none of my relatives could keep me." He wasn't going to get into the specifics with these dwarves he hardly knew. 

Fili and Kili were nodding their understanding. "So it's like Uncle isn't our father, but he raised us anyway," Kili, who was proving the more talkative of the pair, observed. 

"You were raised by your uncle?" Bilbo admittedly didn't know much about dwarves, but he did know they valued family highly. It would make sense for an uncle or male friend to step in for an absent father. 

"And our mother," Fili told him. "Uncle Thorin is her brother." 

"U- uncle _Thorin_?!" Bilbo glanced to the leader of their company, surprised. "Thorin is your uncle?" 

"Aye," Fili nodded with a small smile, as if he were enjoying Bilbo's confusion. "Most of us are related somehow. Everyone but Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur are our cousins. Bofur and Bombur are brothers, Bifur is their cousin." 

"And you all are originally from Erebor?" 

Fili shook his head. "No, not all. Most of us were not born until after the dragon came, though our families are from the line of Durin. All, again, save Bofur and his family. They are Firebeards, from the Blue Mountains." 

Bilbo looked at the kind dwarf with the hat, and then back to Fili, who had tracked the movement. "Then why did they come?" Bilbo wanted to know. "What stake do they have in this?" 

Surprisingly, Fili shifted in his saddle, a blush creeping up his cheeks, and it was Kili who answered. "My brother may or may not have told them there would be free beer." 

Bilbo looked from Killi, to where Fili was studying his saddle, and studiously _not_ looking at Bofur, and something clicked. "Oh! Oh. I see. Well, they must care about you a lot to come, free beer or no," he said, and Fili shot him a grateful smile. 

They rode together for the rest of the day, Bilbo taking the opportunity to ask the young dwarves the questions he had never been able to find answers to about dwarven culture. They were just as curious about hobbits- a curiosity most of the company shared. Around their camp that night all but Thorin gathered by Bilbo, asking their own questions about hobbits, and about Bilbo himself. Kili managed to coax out the tales of some of his more recent adventures, and even Bombur had a few questions about hobbit cooking. That led to Bilbo assisting him in preparing their meals, and one night's conversation was devoted to the different meanings the gifting of food could have in the Shire. Bilbo pretended not to see when Fili gave Bofur an extra large portion that night, right after Bilbo talked about how one always gave their intended the most food at a courting dinner. 

Several days passed in this manner, the miles passing as they sang and shared stories. It was a merry time, and Bilbo found himself welcomed warmly by all except Thorin, who still viewed him with some skepticism. Bilbo firmly told himself he didn't care. After all, _he_ didn't like Thorin, or so he tried desperately to believe. The others more than made up for the aloofness of their leader, and Bilbo quickly developed friendships with the young princes, Ori, and Bofur especially. Nori he shared burgling tips with, and sat through Gloin's long narratives about his wife and little son, who he left behind in Ered Luin. If he saw Gandalf's proud smile as the wizard watched him integrating into the company, he never let on. 

The first real chance to prove himself came one rainy night. Gandalf had stormed off, saying something about pig-headed dwarves, and Fili and Kili were trying in vain to start a fire. It had been pouring all day, and they'd lost a pony crossing a river- the pony carrying the food, of all the bad luck, so nobody was in a very good mood. Add to that being cold, and the dwarves soon took to cursing each other and the boy's inability to start the fire. Bilbo sighed, and pushed past Kili to get at the wood. It was a Trewsday. Typical. 

"Here," he said, taking the tinder-box from Fili's hands. "Let me try, I've lit fires in worse conditions." Under his breath, he whispered a word in Quenya, and struck the flint. Sparks leaped into the wood, and Bilbo leaned forward, coaxing the flame until it caught and grew. Then he sat back with a satisfied grin. "Well," he said to the princes' astonished looks, "I've started a lot of camp fires. You just have to learn the trick to it." 

The boy's questions were interrupted by Thorin, who demanded they go keep watch. Bilbo frowned at him, convinced he worked them too hard. 

"You have an opinion, burglar?" Thorin snapped, and Bilbo winced. They'd been traveling for a week, and there had been no discernible softening in the dwarf-king's attitude towards the hobbit. It was, frankly, wearing very thin. 

"Yeah, actually, I do. Fili and Kili were on scouting duty all day. They deserve a break." The words just sort of popped out of his mouth, but he found he did not regret them, even when Thorin's eyebrows drew together and Bilbo was treated to the full force of his scowl. 

"And what would a halfling know of such things?" Thorin demanded. Bilbo matched him glare for glare. 

"One- don't call me a halfling. It's insulting. I'm not half of anything, thank you very much. If you must call me something other than my name, burglar or Hobbit will do just fine. Or Kuduk, which is what we call ourselves. Two-plenty. I've been on scouting duty before, and more then that, I can say with certainty that nobody can go hours and hours without a break, especially in that rain we had today, and I don't want those boys taking sick." Normally, Bilbo wouldn't have cared about the term halfling, since he was well aware that, however hobbits viewed it, most of the 'big folk' persisted in using it, and did not mean it to be offensive, but he was tired of simply being 'the halfling' to the company's leader. 

Thorin stared at him, the intense gaze now (possibly) slightly surprised. At length, when Bilbo refused to look away, his scowl darkened and he snapped "Fili and Kili can look after themselves," and turned away. 

"Well, yes," Bilbo said, so softly that the only person who heard was Bofur, whose turn it was to cook dinner that night. "But they shouldn't have to." 

"It's just his way," the kind dwarf offered. "He does care for them. He just doesn't know how to show it. Don't be too hard on him, lad. He's had a hard life." 

"I suppose so," Bilbo sighed. "I just hate to see those two working so hard. They do more than any of us, what more can he expect?" 

Bofur stared into the stew pot, stirring the lumpy liquid with uncalled-for concentration. "I know. But they're his heirs. That changes things." For a moment he looked sad, and Bilbo scrambled for something to say, but then the dwarf looked up with a small smile. "But there, 'why worry about what can't be changed,' as my uncle used to say. Now, dinner is almost ready. Why don't you do us a favor and take some to the lads." 

Mind processing the new information, Bilbo took two bowls and went to find Fili and Kili. If his suspicions were correct, he wanted to get Kili on his own to ask a few questions about the elder prince and their resident miner/toymaker. And maybe put a plan in motion. 

"There were sixteen," Kili was saying as Bilbo approached. "I counted when we tied them up." 

"Then why are there only fourteen now?" Fili demanded. 

"What's wrong?" Bilbo asked, coming up behind them. 

"Daisy and Bungo are missing." 

"That's not good," the hobbit observed, glancing to the remaining ponies. There were, indeed, only fourteen where there should have been sixteen. "Gandalf didn't take them, did he?" It wasn't likely, the wizard had his own horse, but it was the only explanation that didn't involve the possibility of someone getting wounded in the near future. 

"They were just here. We-" Kili broke off as something very large crashed through the trees to their right. All three ducked behind a fallen log and watched as the troll- it was too big to really be anything else- carried off two more ponies. 

"That's a troll," Bilbo said. "And he's got Myrtle! Should we tell Thorin?" 

"Let's not worry him," Fili told him. "As our official burglar, why don't you look into it?" 

Normally, Bilbo would have gone to Gandalf, but the wizard wasn't there. He considered going to Thorin anyway, and dismissed the idea. He'd just look more incompetent, which was exactly what he didn't want. Especially after the confrontation earlier. 

"Think of it as a chance to prove yourself to him," Kili encouraged. "You're so small and quiet, they won't see you." 

"Mountain trolls _are_ stupid. And slow," Bilbo acknowledged. "Alright, I'll go." 

"We'll be right behind you," Kili told him, though the brothers remained behind the log. Bilbo set off on his own, following the rather large path of destruction to the troll camp where not one, but three mountain trolls sat around a fire. Bilbo had only seen one troll before, and that from a distance, but everything he'd heard about them was supported by the most cursory look. Big, slow, stupid, and unbearably stinky. Rather like Uncle Lotho, he thought. They were arguing about the ponies and the mutton they were eating as Bilbo crept closer, one hand over his nose. It was a wonder they hadn't smelled the trolls from the camp. And there were the ponies, tied up in a makeshift pen behind the trolls. Myrtle gave a soft whicker when she saw him, but otherwise kept quiet. She'd been his mount for several adventures now, and was very well trained. 

"Mutton yesterday, mutton today, and blimey if it don't look like mutton again tomorrow," one of the trolls complained. Bilbo stifled a laugh. Mutton indeed! 

Obviously one of the trolls thought the same, for he hit the speaker over the head. "Quit yer whining. You'll eats what I gives you, and these ain't sheep. These is west nags." 

"I don't like horse," muttered the complainer. "Not enough fat." 

Bilbo ignored the rest of the conversation in favor of attempting to cut the rope that held his ponies. Unfortunately, he really should have been keeping an ear out at least. His little sword was halfway through when the complainer turned around to get a pony and saw him. Bilbo found himself lifted by the back of his shirt. He let out a rather undignified squawk, twisting in it's grip and slashing out with his sword, which barely made a mark in the troll's thick flesh. 

"Blimey, look what I caught," the troll, whose name was Tom, exclaimed, flicking the sword from Bilbo's hands with a sound that was uncomfortably like breaking steel. 

The other two drew close. "What is it?" one of them asked. 

"No idea," the second troll said. "What are you, little thing?" 

"I'm a bur- ah, a hobbit," Bilbo told them, remembering at the last minute it was probably a bad idea to announce himself as a burglar, even if he had been caught in the act of stealing back the ponies. 

"A burrahobbit?" The third troll asked. "Are there more of you about?" 

"Yes, lots," Bilbo said. "And none at all." He fancied himself quite the riddler, and hoped that it would keep these trolls busy for a time, enough so that either Gandalf would return, or the dwarves could stage a rescue. He also fervently hoped that these were the kind of trolls that turned to stone in sunlight, and that he could keep them distracted until sunrise, which was still several hours away. 

"What do you mean by that?" demanded the complainer. "What's 'lots and none at all'?" 

"More important, can we cook 'em?" The second troll, whose name was William, asked. 

The (dubiously labeled) "cook" of the group, whose name was Bert, gave an evil grin. "We can try." Well, there went the confuse them with riddles idea. It had been a poor plan anyway. 

"No, no, no, I don't cook very well, thank you very much," Bilbo said. "I wouldn't be more than a mouthful for you anyway. Why not just let me go?" 

"Not just yet," Tom the complainer said, giving Bilbo a shake. "What do you mean by lots and none at all?" Ok, maybe there was hope yet. 

"Just what I said," Bilbo told him, hoping that the dwarves would launch a rescue before the trolls decided just to eat him and get it over with. "Lots and none. It isn't that hard to figure out, surely, even for great big stinky fellows like yourselves ." 

"Eeeh..." The trolls looked at each other, trying to figure out if they had been insulted or not. And that was when Kili jumped into the firelight, blade drawn. 

"Drop him," Kili ordered, and Bilbo's hear sank when nobody else appeared behind the young prince. 

"You what?" William asked, just in time to see Kili's sword slice into his leg. 

"I _said_ drop him!" Kili swung his blade and turned to Bert, who still held Bilbo by his shirt. The troll threw the hobbit, and the next few minutes were a blur of charging dwarves and the screams and cries of battle. Bilbo worked his way into the bushes, looking for the sword he had dropped when the troll picked him up. He found it (sadly snapped in half) and turned to join the battle as two of the trolls picked Kili up by his arms and held him in the air. 

"Put down your arms," the third troll said, "or we rip his off." Thorin paused for only a second before giving way in the face of the threat to his sister-son, letting his sword fall to the ground. Bilbo faded back into the foliage as only a hobbit came, and thus avoided recapture. He watched in horror as his friends were rounded up and put into bags, trying to come up with a plan. 

Several dwarves were tied up to a spit, and the trolls began roasting them by the time he had a viable idea. Pitching his voice so it sounded somewhat like Tom's, he called out, "What're we roasting them for? Don't you know dwarves is better marinated first?" 

"Quit your yapping," Bert ordered, cuffing Tom around the head. 

Tom promptly hit Bert in retaliation. "Oh, what was that for?" 

"For complaining about how I'm cooking the dwarves! I'd like to see you do better!" Bert said. 

Across the clearing, Bilbo threw his voice again, this time sounding like William. "Well, he's right, ain't he? Only we should sit on 'em and squash 'em into jelly!" 

William, who thought Tom was talking, helpfully added "or skin them. Maybe cook 'em with a nice bit of oregano or thyme." 

"Shove off, both of you!" Bert yelled, throwing his ladle at William. That instigated a full on brawl between the three, and Bilbo used the distraction to untie Thorin and Gloin. The three had almost freed all the dwarves in the sacks on the ground when the trolls noticed what was going on. They charged over, and made a big job of catching the freed dwarves while Bilbo ran around, helpfully untying anyone they caught. This went on for a fair while before they were all captured again, and even Bilbo didn't stay free this time. He tried talking at the trolls again to distract them, which was only marginally successful, but far better than nothing. He could see the first light of dawn coming over the tree, and hoped Gandalf would come soon. In a last ditch effort, he yelled out "They've got parasites!" 

The trolls stopped and looked at him. One of them asked "They what?" 

"Parasites. Big ones. I really wouldn't risk it." 

"What? I don't-!" Several of the dwarves started to protest. Bilbo wondered about the collective intelligence of the company. Honestly, couldn't they see what he was trying to do there? Fortunately, that was when he saw Gandalf climbed on top of a giant rock on the east side of the clearing. 

"Dawn take you, and turn you all to stone!" the wizard cried, pounding his staff on the boulder, which cracked down the middle and split apart. The trolls had time for one terrified scream before there were three troll-like statues in the clearing. Gandalf climbed down from what remained of the rock, and came to untie Bilbo. 

"Well, that was almost as bad as the goblins three years ago," Bilbo said when he was free. "And _you're_ late, Atya." 

"Humph," Gandalf raised an eyebrow at his son. "A wizard is never late, Onya." 

Bilbo made a face at him and went off to untie the dwarves. 

Once they were all freed, the dwarves and Bilbo quickly found the troll's cave, along with their hoard. Despite the truly atrocious smell, they all went inside to see what they could find. Bilbo, remembering his long-ago promise to Gandalf, watched Thorin as he followed them in, to see his reaction to the treasure. Not that he had much of a reaction. Bilbo still couldn't read him. He seemed to have two modes- stern and majestic, or brooding and majestic. Though, recently there had been hints of a smile when Bilbo caught Thorin watching his kin. Just now he was 'stern and majestic', watching the other dwarves scurry around the loot. The only reaction Bilbo saw from him was a frown of displeasure when Gandalf told him the sword he had found was of elvish make. The hobbit made a mental note to ask Fili or Kili just why their uncle disliked elves so much. 

Outside the cave, Gandalf caught Bilbo by the arm and drew him off to the side. "I saw your sword snapped," he said, thrusting a weapon into Bilbo's hands. 

"The trolls broke it," Bilbo told him with regret. That little sword had been a trusty companion for some years. 

"This blade is far stronger," Gandalf tapped the sheath Bilbo held. "And it will glow blue when orcs are around, which you may find useful at some point." 

"Are you planning on an orc attack?" Bilbo joked, then drew the blade. His breath escaped in a soft sound of surprise when he beheld his new sword. While his old one had been good, this was a work of art. He knew nothing about sword smithing, but he could tell this must have been made by a master. "Oh, Atya, thank you," Bilbo said in wonder, holding the blade up to the light. He was too busy looking at the blade to see Gandalf's fond smile, but he heard it in the wizard's voice when he said "Well, I should hope you would would appreciate a good blade, after all we went through to get you those lessons." 

"I-" Bilbo started to reply but was cut off by Thorin's sharp bark of "Something's coming." 


	5. Rivendell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fought me tooth and nail. It requires re-writing for much of the first half, but that will have to be done when I have my computer back, which will hopefully be next weekend, if the mail cooperates. (Sending stuff from America takes forever. I can't wait to go home next year, where I'll be able to get parts for my computer quickly if it breaks again.) Please ignore typos, this was still written on my iPad.
> 
> Kili and Bilbo are devious little shits sometimes. I think everyone will have cause to regret putting them together, especially since Bilbo seems to have picked up some of Gandalf's meddlesome ways. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and a big thanks to everyone who commented or left kudos! This past week was hell, and your thoughts helped me get through the week.
> 
> Oh, and I have a tumblr now. You can find me [ here ](http://wanderingalicewrites.tumblr.com/) if you like. I haven't done much with it yet, but I will be putting up a rec list soon! (Suggestions of new things to read are always welcomed!)

Bilbo tensed at Thorin's call, and heard Gandalf draw his sword beside him. Something was coming, moving fast and heading straight for the company. Bilbo gripped his sword tighter, taking a step back behind the safety of Gandalf's staff. Something slid, screaming about thieves, and fire, and murder, to a halt right in front of them, and Bilbo had to laugh. Rabbits. Radagast and his rabbits.

"Radagast!" Gandalf cried, half in surprise and half in relief. "Radagast the Brown!" The dwarves around them relaxed, but, Bilbo noted, didn't let go of their weapons. Gandalf drew Radagast off to the side, probably to discuss something for wizards, if the haste of Radagast's arrival was any indication. Bilbo knew from experience he shouldn't interrupt, so he wandered back over to the rest of the company. 

"Who's that?" Kili asked, eyeing the two wizards with curiosity. 

"That's Radagast the Brown. He's a wizard too." 

"What's he doing here?" the older prince wanted to know. "Does he always ride rabbits?" Kili asked at the same time. 

"I don't know, and yes. Those are Rhosgobel Rabbits. He breeds them himself," Bilbo replied. "He doesn't normally leave Rhosgobel unless there's a meeting of the White Council. I do hope nothing has happened." The hobbit frowned. 

"What do you mean?" Bofur had drifted over to join the conversation. 

"He's meant to be watching Dol Guldur." Bilbo watched Gandalf accept something from the other wizard, and grew more worried. Before anyone could reply, a piercing howl split the air. 

"That's not a wolf," Bilbo said, and looked down to see his new blade glowing softly blue. 

"Warg scouts," Thorin cried, cutting down one of the giant creatures as it leaped into their clearing. Two more followed, to be swiftly taken out by Fili's blades and Kili's arrows. "The pack must not be far behind." 

The next few minutes were a blur of running, fighting, and hoping not to get caught- for capture meant certain death. Bilbo hadn't been the target of an orc-hunt before, but he knew the general principle. They wanted someone or something, or else they wouldn't be out so close to elven lands. Bilbo wasn't a betting hobbit, but if he was, he would have bet that they wanted to stop the company, though why was a bit beyond him. Orcs and dragons might both be on the same "side" as it were, but they rarely had anything to do with each other. 

A hidden valley provided a welcome refuge for the company, and, led by Gandalf, they flew down the crevasse, pursued by the sound of elven horns and the howls of the wargs. At last, Bilbo recognized the sounds of the Loudwater, the river the elves called Bruinen, and knew where they were. Rivendell, the Last Homely House, the home of Elrond Half-Elven. To Bilbo it was a welcome sight, whatever the dwarves may have thought. 

Elvish singing greeted the company as the climbed down into the valley, a song Bilbo could roughly translate as mocking and welcoming them in equal measure. He'd heard versions of this song before, improvised by those musicians of Rivendell who greeted travelers. Through some trick of the elvish language, even a merry song sounded ethereal when sung in Sindarin. The dwarves either couldn't understand, or simply ignored the song, tramping ahead as if to some dark confinement instead of the comforts of Elrond's home. Only the three youngest looked about with any interest, and only Kili really seemed moved by the wonders of the place. The youngest prince's eyes were wide as he took it all in, and Bilbo, remembering his own first visit some forty years before, moved up beside him to point out things that might be of interest. Ori also came close to listen, and Bilbo was almost certain the scribe would be doing his best to capture the beauty of the place in his record-book. 

Bilbo was pleased to see Lindir come out to greet them, and, despite the suspicious dwarves, they were all warmly welcomed. The company was given rooms in the guest quarters, not far from where Gandalf and Bilbo had their usual rooms. These, they gratefully returned to, and all were given some time to rest before dinner would be served. Bilbo spent a good hour in the bath, relaxing in the warm water before a knock on the door drew him out. There, he found a young human boy, Estel*, grinning at him, wooden practice sword clutched in his hands. 

"Lord Elrond said you were here," he said, by way of greeting. "Can we practice? I'm getting tired of always trying to beat people taller than me." 

Bilbo laughed, and followed the boy out into the hall. "Hello to you too, Estel. Eru, you're taller than I am now!" The hobbit exclaimed, finding he had to look up to meet his young friend's eyes. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, tall as your mother is." 

The two found the practice courts nearly empty, and spent some time attempting to win against the other. They made a rather strange pair, the middle-aged hobbit and the young boy, but they were of roughly equal strength and height, which made for a decent match. Before long they'd drawn a small crowd of spectators, including Gandalf, Lindir, and most of the dwarves. Gandalf called encouragements to his son, while Lindir urged his pupil on. Then Fili and Kili stepped in, calling out moves the pair could try, and demonstrating them when neither Bilbo nor Estel knew what they were talking about. It was rather enjoyable, the only odd moment coming when Bilbo looked up to see Thorin watching him with that unreadable, intense gaze. He couldn't decide if the dwarf was surprised at the fighting skill he showed, or displeased to see he knew the elvish style of swordplay. In the end, Bilbo put it out of his mind and focused on his footwork, which had always been his weak point. 

Eventually, it came time for dinner, and Estel's mother came to retrieve him. Bilbo followed Gandalf and the dwarves to dinner with Elrond, where, as a friend of the lord of the house, the hobbit sat with Gandalf and Thorin at the high table. He was amused by the dwarves reaction to the feast set before them, and made a note to tell the kitchens to include more meat for the next meal. Poor Ori looked perplexed by the green food, and the others all seemed to be in varying states of discomfort. Kili was obviously trying to hide his interest, watching the elves out of the corner of his eyes. It was a shame, really, the prejudices people got. Bilbo didn't really understand it. At least everyone started having a good time once Bofur started reciting the drinking song Bilbo had taught him on the road, and Bilbo didn't miss the way Fili's eyes followed Bofur as he danced on the table, or the way Bofur looked to Fili for approval. Something really needed to be done about that, preferably before they were all old and grey. And Bilbo knew just the dwarf to help. 

After dinner, Bilbo sought out Kili, hoping to catch him away from his brother or some of the more gossipy dwarves. Fortunately, he found the dwarf archer on his own in one of the many gardens, looking around with naked interest in his surroundings. Bilbo approached quietly and then cleared his throat, making his friend jump. 

"What? What, oh, Bilbo," Kili gave him a relieved smile. "I thought you were Uncle or one of the others." 

Bilbo laughed. "Nope, not them." 

"So what brings you out here?" Kili wanted to know. "I thought Estel would be cornering you for another bout in the practice hall." 

"No," Bilbo shook his head. "I was looking for you. We need to talk about your brother." 

"My... My brother?" Kili blinked at him. "Are you sure? It's just, usually people are saying that to Fili." 

"Unless you're the one in love with Bofur, I'm sure." 

Kili's eyes went wide. "How do you even know about that?" Bilbo grinned. 

"I have eyes, Kili. And not everyone is as dense as your big brother. It's as plain as the nose on your face he's head over heels, and just as plain that Bofur feels the same way. Which begs the question, why hasn't one of them said something?" 

"Ah, hell" Kili said. "It's... Complicated." 

Bilbo went to one of the benches and sat, staring expectantly at the dwarf. "So un-complicate it." 

"I..." Kili looked torn. "Why does it matter, anyway?" He tried to distract Bilbo with a rather obvious tactic. "You' em barely known us a month." 

"A month where we've been living in each other's pockets," the hobbit remind him. "I'd like to think I know all of you pretty well by now, well, with the exception of your uncle. And I'd like to see Fili and Bofur happy." 

"Uncle's just slow to trust anybody," Kili said clearly rather desperate to keep the topic off his brother. "He'll warm up to you. You'll see." 

"I certainly hope so, but don't change the topic. Fili. Bofur. The lack of relationship. Your explanation thereof." 

"Look, I promised not to say anything. Fili doesn't think anyone else knows, and he wants to keep it that way." Kili tried a frown at Bilbo, but without the weight of anger behind it, Bilbo wasn't at all intimidated. 

"Let me guess, you promised not to tell anyone how he feels, right?" Bilbo asked, and received a nod of confirmation. "Right then. You didn't promise anything else?" Kili shook his head, eyes lighting up as he saw what Bilbo was getting at. "Then you don't have to break your promise. I already know. What you do need to do is tell me why he hasn't done anything." 

Kili relaxed, all but falling onto the bench next to Bilbo. "It's stupid. _Really_ stupid. They've been dancing around each other for at least a decade now, and it's driving me insane." Now that the pressure to keep his promise was gone, Kili seemed eager to talk, as Bilbo had suspected he would be. "See, we only recently came of age, and, well, we knew Bofur when we were little. He'd just opened up a toy shop with Bifur when we were in our twenties, and that was how we met them, since everybody knows Bifur makes the best toys in the Blue Mountains. And, well, since they're both of age now it shouldn't be a problem. Only, Fili's worried Bofur still thinks of him as a kid, and that Uncle won't approve, and a couple other dumb things like Bofur not being from the Longbeard clan, and his position of heir, and, well, he's making it a lot more complicated than it needs to be." 

"Wait, why wouldn't Thorin approve?" Bilbo asked. 

"He probably would," Kili replied. "But Fili thinks he wouldn't like the age difference, even though there were more than 25 years between our parents. And he's all but convinced himself that Uncle would forbid a union because of the clan thing, even though it would strengthen our ties to the Firebeards, and Uncle never really cared about the inter-clan stuff before." 

"So, really, he's just scared and adding on reasons to validate waiting," Bilbo observed. "And Bofur probably thinks his interest isn't returned, so he hasn't done anything either. _Is_ there a chance of Thorin, or, I guess, your mother objecting?" 

"Nah," Kili shook his head. "Or well, maybe, but it wouldn't matter. Not once they've gotten together. I'm almost positive they're, well, there isn't really a word for it in Westron. Soulmate maybe, or One. And that's not a bond anyone can break." 

Bilbo frowned to himself, adjusting his view of dwarves once more to incorporate the new information. "So, all dwarves have a soulmate?" he asked, out of pure curiosity. He most certainly was _not_ thinking about how romantic it was. 

"I think so. See, we only ever fall in love once. And once that person dies, that's it. Most dwarves don't live long after their soulmate dies. My mother is an exception, but she had Fili and me to take care of. I don't like to think what would have happened if she hadn't." 

"Huh," Bilbo refused to wonder what that kind of love would be like. He was not about to fall in love, there were still too many adventures to be had for him to even think of settling down. "So, is there a way to tell? I mean, would Bofur know he's Fili's soulmate?" 

Kili thought about it for a few moments before answering. "Possibly. It's apparently not something you can mistake. He probably thinks Fili's rejecting the bond." 

"Hmm," Bilbo chewed on his lip. "Alright then. Here's what we should do..." He and Kili spent the next hour plotting, at least until Bilbo was called away to an audience with Elrond. The hobbit left, feeling pleased with himself. The plan would take some doing, but it wasn't like they didn't have months of journey ahead of them. 

The doors to the council chamber were closed when Bilbo arrived, so he took a seat outside and waited for Gandalf. This was probably about their map, which Bilbo had with him, carefully stored in a waterproof tube he usually attached to his pack. He took it out to look at again, then put it away when he realized he wasn't going to find anything new. After a few more minutes of waiting, Bilbo pulled put a small journal from one of his many pockets. The silence was starting to get to him, even though he could hear the elves singing in the distance. He flipped through the pages, frowning down at his notes on the journey, sketches of things he'd seen, and little thoughts he'd had. One particular passage caught his eye, and he paused. It was a song he had started a few nights ago, and he thought it had the makings of a good melody. 

The hobbit hummed the first few lines to himself, dragging his mind from thoughts of Thorin's deep baritone singing his words. He wasn't even on friendly terms with the dwarf, there was no way he would be asking the king to sing for him. None at all, even if he did have a rather nice voice. No, if this song was going to be sung, it would be done by Bilbo himself. 

__

The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way,

Where many paths and errands meet.

And whither then? I cannot say.

"Very nice," Thorin said from behind Bilbo, making the hobbit jump. Think of the devil. And, to make it worse he'd heard Biobo singing an unfinished song. "I was not aware you sang." 

"Just because I haven't sung for you, doesn't mean I can't, Mister Oakenshield. You'll find there's a great many things I can do that you don't know about," Bilbo snapped. Really, the nerve of the dwarf, sneaking up on someone and then listening to a private song. The hobbit resolutely ignored the fact that he'd been thinking of asking Thorin to sing this particular song just moments before. He'd not yet had a conversation that lasted more than two words with the dwarf, at least, not without becoming an argument, and that didn't look to be changing soon. 

"So I am beginning to see," Thorin said. He made a sound like he was going to say something more, and then closed his mouth. After a few more attempts to speak, he seemed to settle on asking, "was that a traditional hobbit song?" 

Bilbo blinked, thrown off by Thorin's shift in attitude towards him. This was the very first time he had shown any interest in getting to know his burglar better. At last, he shook his head. "No," he said, "and it's not really finished either. The melody needs some work, and maybe a few more verses. I mean, it's nothing like a real song, but it suits me. I only started it last week." He bit his tongue to stop himself rambling. 

Thorin, for his part, looked surprised. "You wrote that?" 

"Yes, I, well, yes, yes, I did," Bilbo stuttered, pinned under Thorin's intense- and now slightly surprised- gaze. He was saved from further embarrassing himself by the arrival of Gandalf, who took one look at his son's slightly red face and raised an eyebrow. Bilbo just shook his head. Thorin was confusing, but he'd known that much from the start. Before anyone could say anything else, Balin arrived, followed by Elrond. It was time to take another look at Bilbo's map. 

*Estel is the name Aragorn was given during his childhood in Rivendell. He would have been about ten during the quest for Erebor, and I firmly believe that he and Bilbo would have been good friends even then, if they had met.


	6. Elrond's Council

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, and that it's so short. Things have gotten rather busy, and, since it's my last four months of service, I'm going to be doing a lot of wrapping up projects and whatnot that will require travel away from site. I'll try to keep this updating as much as possible, however- the writing keeps me sane through all the crazyness that is my life at the moment. 
> 
> I'll let you get to the story, but I've got a very important question on Khuzdul (one that pertains both to this story, and, more importantly, a large project I'm in the process of planning) to ask you all, that I'll put in the end notes. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!

Of course, the answer to what was hidden in the map had to be something both obscure and, once you knew about it, simple. "Moon runes." Bilbo repeated after Elrond, leaning forward to look at the new lines of writing that appeared as the elf lord held the map up to the light of the moon. And there it was, the key he had been missing for so long, miraculously brought to the one person who could read them, on the one night of the year it was possible to be read. Bilbo himself couldn't understand it, not when the words were in Khuzdul, but the of geometric patterns of Cirth were fascinating in and of themselves. It was a shame the dwarves guarded their language so jealously, or Bilbo would have asked Bofur or Ori to teach him.   
  
Elrond frowned at the map, and Bilbo watched Thorin tense. It had been an argument and a half to get him to show Elrond the map, and in the end Gandalf had had to put his foot down and insist. Now, the dwarf watched their host suspiciously, as if waiting for him to try and steal it. Instead, the elf shifted so all could see the runes.   
  
"It says 'stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's day will shine upon the keyhole.'" Elrond read, drawing a frown of disapproval from Thorin, who probably was annoyed he knew Khuzdul.   
  
"Durin's day?" Bilbo asked. He hadn't been aware of a time limit to the quest. From the looks Thorin and Balin traded, they hadn't thought about it either.  
  
"The first day of the dwarves' new year, when the last moon of autumn and the first sun of winter appear in the sky together," Gandalf explained.  
  
That didn't give them much time. It was almost Lithe*, and, if Bilbo was doing his calculations correctly that meant they had four or five months before Durin's Day. In that time, they would have to cross the Misty Mountains, pass through Mirkwood, and find the door on the side of a dragon-infested mountain. It could well be that they would reach Erebor, only to find that they had to wait another year. Thorin apparently had the same thought, and Bilbo saw a frown cross his face.

“We still have time,” Balin reassured him. “There are several months before us yet.”

Elrond looked at Thorin and Balin then, eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I should think that was obvious,” Thorin said, with no small amount of scorn.

Elrond was clearly displeased. “So you intend to enter the mountain.”

“What of it?” Thorin barked, bristling. Bilbo looked between the dwarf and the elf, worried.

“There are some who would not deem it wise,” Elrond declared, and Bilbo really didn’t like the way he turned to look at Gandalf, as if blaming the wizard or judging his decision.

“We’re going, though, wise or not,” he glared at the elf lord. “We’re going to get these dwarves back their home. And I for one think it’s a grand idea. Nobody deserves to be run out of their own home.”

Elrond turned his gaze on Bilbo, and the hobbit found it was less unsettling than the full force of Thorin’s glare. “Be that as it may, Master Baggins, there are forces at work here that you cannot understand.”

“I don’t need to understand them. This is what’s _right._ And we’re going, whether or not you want us to.” Bilbo was quite fond of Elrond, and elves in general, but sometimes they had a tendency to look down on people who were less long-lived than they, and Bilbo wasn’t having it.

“Bilbo,” Gandalf rested a restraining hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. The hobbit looked around, and noticed Thorin watching him with unsettling intensity. He felt his face heating, and turned away.

“Gandalf, perhaps we can discuss this elsewhere?” Elrond suggested. “There is someone who wishes to speak with you on this matter.”

“Someone?” Gandalf asked, but Elrond shook his head. Bilbo made a face. It was clear Elrond wouldn’t speak in front of the dwarves, never-mind that this whole thing was about them. Gandalf watched him, saying nothing and at last Elrond gave him back the map.

“You are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle-Earth,” he said, and walked away.

Bilbo watched him go with a frown. “Well, I guess that means we’ll be sneaking out in the night, then, hmm?” he said, to no one in particular. This was not his first go-around with doing something Elrond disapproved of, after all.

“You believe he will try to stop us?” Thorin asked, and the hobbit shrugged.

“He’s tried before. That time he didn’t think Gandalf should take me up against the… what was it, again? That thing, in the mountains, the one with the… spear.”

“Cave troll,” Gandalf added helpfully.

“Yes, that. Cave troll.” Bilbo nodded. It had been a hideous thing, and it smelled worse than it looked. “It had been preying on people crossing the mountains for a while, and we figured it was time to do something about it. Elrond thought I was too young, so he tried to keep us here. We left in the middle of the night so he couldn’t catch us.”

“How old were you?” Balin asked, and Bilbo shrugged.

“Thirty? Twenty five? Something like that. Not quite of age, but old enough to know what I was doing. Glorfindel himself trained me with a sword after all!”

Balin and Thorin exchanged shocked looks. “You were twenty five?” Thorin asked, then turned to Gandalf. “And you took him to fight a _cave troll_?”

“He was twenty eight, I believe,” Gandalf told him. “And he was to _watch_ , not get involved. Not that that stopped him from jumping in when he thought I might get hurt,” Gandalf sent a stern look at Bilbo, who grinned right back. He didn’t regret disobeying orders that time, or any time since. Not when his father was in danger.

Thorin and Balin didn’t seem to know what to make of that information, or the nonchalant way Bilbo and Gandalf talked about it. Bilbo knew dwarves came of age at a much later age than hobbits, but still, it wasn’t like he’d been a _child_. He’d been almost of age, after all. And Fili and Kili could hardly be much past their majority, not to mention little Ori. So, really, they were fine ones to talk about not letting children into battle. Before he could say anything about it, though, Gandalf intervened.

“Come, we can speak of this later,” he told them. “Now we must find the others and you all must be ready to leave while I speak with Lord Elrond.”

Bilbo followed Gandalf out into the hall, and into the passage leading down to where the dwarves had been given rooms. He was paying attention in case any elves were around to stop them, and that was why he spotted the white cloak rounding the corner just ahead.

“Morgoth,” he cursed, stopping in the middle of the hall.

“Bilbo Baggins! Language!” Gandalf admonished, but Bilbo shrugged it off. He was fifty years old and could say what he liked. And this occasion called for some profanity.

“Saruman’s here, Atya. I just saw him up ahead.”

Gandalf looked to the corner where Bilbo had seen Saruman’s cloak, then back at his hobbit-child. “Ah. Yes, well. That would be why Elrond wants to speak in private. Perhaps he hopes Saruman will dissuade me.”

“Can he not order you to stop us?” Thorin asked. “He is the head of your order.”

“That is why you all must leave, right away,” Gandalf told him. “I will attempt to stall them for as long as necessary. It is my hope that Saruman will see reason, but if he does not, we must move swiftly.”

They went quickly after that, returning to their rooms to pack and gather up the other dwarves. Bilbo, it was decided, would continue on with Thorin and the company, while Gandalf went to the meeting with Elrond. Then Gandalf would catch up to them the next day, while they were in the mountains. Bilbo didn’t like leaving him behind, but there really wasn’t much of a choice. He would be no use in a council of wizards, while he was the only one of the company that knew the path out of Rivendell well enough to lead them through it in the night.

After the dwarves and Bilbo left, Gandalf went to meet with Elrond and Saruman, and found the lady Galadriel there as well. She, at least, was far more sympathetic to his plan, especially once he showed them the blade that Radagast had found. Still, it was well the company had gone ahead, for Saruman would not be persuaded. He was, as Bilbo had once called him, a ‘pig-headed fool, too complacent in his success to see what was before his very nose,’ but Gandalf hoped that, given evidence he was sure would come to light on this quest, he could be brought to see the danger that was once again rising in Middle Earth.

 

  
  
*Lithe- the hobbit festival of mid-year's day. Sort of like the summer solstice, from what I can find, which would make this chapter sometime before June 22. Since Durin's day seems to fall mid-to-late October, this gives the dwarves about four months to get to Erebor. (Feel free to correct me if I've got it wrong.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, I'm writing my big fix-it fic, with the help of the absolutely amazing Ashaya T'Reldai, and we've come up with a dilemma. We want to have a definitive word for soulmate in Khuzdul, which.... we can't find. We've been discussing it, and decided to ask for reader input. I'll be asking here, and also probably in the next chapter of Clipped Wings. 
> 
> I've seen umùrad’akar (other-soul-part) on Khuzdul4U, but they don't seem too certain about it, and we wanted to try out some other words. We also came up with amrabme (my-soul) or Amlaku-amrabme (half-of-my-soul), if I'm using the Khuzdul right. Ashaya also had the idea to use some Hebrew terms (since Tolkein based Khuzdul on Semitic languages) and we pulled up Zivug, which looks to be something like soulmate, with overtones of destiny. Adding the Khuzdul posessive suffix of -e (or is it -me?) we came up with Zhivagme. 
> 
> What we need to know from you all, is which one do you think works best? It's the one I'm going to use in my head-cannon from now on, and I'd really appreciate your input. So, shall we go with umùrad’akar (other-soul-part), amrabme (my-soul), Amlaku-amrabme (half-of-my-soul), or the made-up Zhivagme (my destined soulmate)? 
> 
> Also, please feel free to let me know if I've got any of my clunky word-creations wrong- I'm still new to playing with Khuzdul. 
> 
> Thanks so much! (And, you're more than welcome to just say something about the story, I love comments as much as I love chocolate (which is a lot!))


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